


Deteriorating

by orphan_account



Series: ED!Dan 'verse [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, self harm (scratching is mentioned like twice but i thought i'd tw it just in case)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The one and only time Dan had ever looked up what was wrong with him, when he read the words ’anorexia nervosa’ he’d closed out of his browser window in less than a second, wiped his search history and left his computer off for two days. He didn’t have an eating disorder. He’s always been told that eating disorders are for skeletal runway models that puke up their lunches, and there’s no way that chubby, lazy Dan Howell could <em>ever</em> have an eating disorder.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dan starts running earlier in the mornings and there’s a different barista at his favorite coffee shop who turns out to be exactly what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deteriorating

**Author's Note:**

> i thought i'd post this on my AO3 acc. bc it's the first fanfic i've ever written and have had this acc. fr like two years and i've never posted anything so. nice.  
> originally posted on tumblr @ http://plant-hoe-lester.tumblr.com/post/124740617924/deteriorating  
> (if i missed any annoying errors like typos or messed up editing pls tell me so i can fix it!! thank u.)

Dan hated running.

 

At first, he'd done a pretty good job at convincing himself that he liked it. The endorphin rush and knowing that he'd actually succeeded at something made it all worthwhile. But, after two years of doing it every morning, no matter the weather or how far he'd ran the days before, it became more of a chore that needed to be done than a hobby.

 

Along with the new exercise regime, he had also started changing his eating habits. Dan stopped drinking sugary soda and was sure to always keep a water bottle next to him, and quit filling himself up with whatever, whenever he felt like it. He replaced 11PM snack sessions with 20 minutes on the stationary bike before bed, and had a bagel and a macchiato before class instead of a full-fledged breakfast, among other things.

 

He remembers the first time he really _looked_ at a nutritional label. It was during the summer before University, and his mum had gotten him a Hershey's bar while she was out at the store, because he'd 'been doing so well on his diet and deserved a little treat'. He'd fiddled with the package for a few minutes when his eyes accidentally raked over the words on the back, and Dan had thought, _how can something so small have so many calories in it?_ He started noticing more, after that. Counting calories, keeping track of how much he ate and how much of it he'd burn off, switching to low-cal, no-cal, diet everything once he'd moved out and had control over his own grocery shopping.

 

When he'd started dieting, it was because he was extremely unfit. It had less to do with his appearance and more to do with the fact that he couldn't run up his stairs without hacking up a lung. But, as it kept on, he'd look in the mirror and see how he still had a little chub on his stomach, how his face was just a tad too round, and how much his thighs touched and the space between them. He'd never really thought he was ugly until these minor things seemed to jump out at him under the harsh light of his bathroom and stuck in the forefront of his mind. It was like he'd put on a pair of glasses that allowed him to really see all that was wrong with him, wrong with his body, and he couldn't take them off.

 

As his self esteem chipped away, he no longer wanted to be seen. Dan would cover up with large jumpers, sweat pants, jeans that no longer fit him properly and anything that wouldn't come anywhere close to showing the dimensions of his person. He stopped making plans with the few friends he had and opted to take his uni classes online so that he wouldn't have to walk into a lecture hall full of people every day.

 

And so, here he was, running in a large hoodie and baggy basketball shorts over thermal leggings at five in the morning, a few hours earlier than he normally would so that he could avoid the New Year's resolutionist's, hating his life as he over-exerted himself just so that he would hate _himself_ a little less later.

 

Dan had a schedule: wake up, brush his teeth, stretch, run, get coffee, get home, shower, do daily coursework, fuck around on the internet, eat whatever lunch he had planned, go to work, go home, eat dinner, watch an episode of something whilst using the stationary bike, sleep, repeat. He's rarely deviated from it and he can't stand it when he does; he liked his life orderly and change never fails to make him anxious – which is why he wishes he'd thought this schedule mixup through completely when he walked into the small coffee shop near his flat to see that everything was different.

 

It was a lot emptier than he was used to, for starters. At 8 AM, it'd normally be at least half full of people still trying to wake themselves up while they awaited their first caffeine fix of the day. Now, though, a quarter to six, there were three people in the entire shop, two of which were definitely up all night studying, if their yawning over textbooks was anything to go by. The other was a barista that he didn't recognize – instead of the usual red-headed, short, covered-in-tattoos Jen that he'd grown accustomed too, he was greeted by a black-haired, tired-looking boy who's name tag identified as 'Phil'.

 

When he reached the counter and was asked, “What can I get for you today?”, instead of placing his order like a normal human being, the first thing Dan said was, “Did Jennifer quit?”

 

Phil looked taken aback for a moment before smiling. “No, she works 7 to 12. You're stuck with me until then.”

 

“No, that's not what I–” he sighed. “Sorry. I've been coming here for five months and I've just started getting up earlier than I normally would. I guess I didn't realize that other people worked here.” Dan grimaced. “Anyways. Large black coffee to go, please.”

 

The other boy laughed, placing a disposable cup under the large, complicated-looking coffee maker. “It's fine. We don't get very many early birds around here. For the most part I just clean tables and play games on my phone.” He paused. “Don't tell my boss that.”

 

He smirked and paid the barista for the double-cupped beverage. He was putting his wallet back in his pocket when Phil asked, “would you like a complimentary cupcake with your order?”

 

Dan froze, swallowing hard. “What?”

 

Phil gestured to the normally-empty pastry display that was now almost completely filled with miniature cupcakes. “I bake a lot. I convinced the shop to let me give them out for free so that they don't go to waste. I've been told great things.” He looked at Dan, expression smug but also a bit hopeful. He couldn't help but notice that the frosting was just as bright as his eyes.

 

“Um,” he paused, taking a drink of his too-hot coffee as an excuse to think for a moment. He always had a plan, and this wasn't in it. He could say that he was feeling sick, politely decline, or just say that he didn't like cupcakes. But, it'd been so long since he'd had anything indulgent, and there was a voice in the back of his head telling him that he could always just bike an extra half an hour to make up for it tonight, or take the long way home from work. Dan bit his lip, steeling himself, before nodding.

 

When the small dessert was in his palm, it took him a moment before he worked up the courage to just pop it in his mouth. When his tongue actually caught up with his brain, he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jesus, that is so good, I could eat fifty of these, oh my God.”

 

He could feel the sugary goop of the frosting as it slid down his throat, there were crumbs between his gums, and the longer the sweet taste stuck to his tongue the more guilty he felt, but it was completely worth it to see Phil's blinding grin and the faint blush on his cheeks as he giggled a 'thanks'.

 

Dan's smile didn't feel as fake as he thought it would when he let out a shaky breath and said, “See you tomorrow.”

 

_***_

 

After leaving the coffee shop, he couldn't bring himself to eat anything else for the rest of the day. Every time his stomach clenched around nothing or a hunger pain went through him, he took it as punishment for his impulsive decision and straying from his set meal plan. He had _control_ , dammit, he was better than this. Sadly, every time he tried to blame Phil for convincing him to eat something he shouldn't of, he was stuck remembering his stupid smile and his delicious baking and ended up pointing the finger back on himself for being so weak and proving, yet again, how much of an idiot he was.

 

Come morning, Dan spent at least a half an hour in front of his bathroom mirror after he'd weighed himself – _58.51 kilos, 129 pounds, toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ – pinching, prodding and clawing at every inch of skin he could find. He could see the frosting as it coated his thighs, could feel the cake crumbs clinging to his stomach, could practically hear the sugar as it rushed around in his body and turned his blood into molasses, making him lazy and sluggish and _fat_.

 

His run made him feel somewhat better emotionally, but physically, he was about ready to keel over and die by the time he reached the coffee shop.

 

Phil was smirking for a moment before he really looked at him, and his face fell. He looked ready to say something, but a glance at the customer waiting behind Dan made him purse his lips before asking for his order.

 

“Large black coffee for–” he paused as a wave of vertigo washed over him, black spots clouding his vision. “For here, please.”

 

The barista cast him another worried glance before handing him his drink. Dan took it gingerly and sat down at the nearest table, resting his head in his hands, willing the lightheadedness to go away.

 

He was taking a tester sip of his coffee, contemplating throwing a sugar packet or three in it in an attempt to raise his blood sugar, when Phil sat down across from him, wearing a checkered jumper over his work shirt. He had a water bottle in one hand and keys in the other.

 

The first thing he said was, “are you alright?” When Dan didn't answer for a moment, he added, “sorry, I'm intruding. I don't even know your name. My mum always says that I butt into other people's business without meaning too. It's just– you look sick, or something.”

 

Dan cringed, taking a drink and sighing. “It's fine, I think I'm coming down with a cold, I dunno.” He was taking another drink when the rest of Phil's sentence caught up with him, making him sputter as he tried to swallow too fast. “Dan. My name, it's. It's Dan.”

 

Phil smiled. “Well, Dan, my name's Phil, obviously. Have you had breakfast yet? I normally go to the diner across the street before I go home, if you'd like to join me.”

 

“Isn't that, like, supporting your competition?” he asked, getting up and walking towards the door while evading the original question.

 

“Nah, the owners are friendly with each other. I think they might be business partners, but most of their conversations take place in his office, so,” he shrugged, holding the door open for him.

 

They talked about Phil's boss for another minute after choosing a window seat by the back before their waitress came by and got their drink orders.

 

“So, what do you want? They have great food, promise.” Phil smirked, not even bothering to look down at the menus in front of them.

 

Dan bit his lip for a moment. “Y'know, I'm not very hungry. Could I just steal a few bites of whatever you're getting? I mean, I'll still pay for half.”

 

He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips when the waitress came over with their requested beverages – a Diet Cola for himself and a water for Phil. He ended up drinking two full glasses of soda before the food actually got to them, and managed to keep Phil talking, holding up the weight of the conversation so that nothing accidentally swung the spotlight onto Dan, and only had the two mostly-dry pieces of the other boy's pancakes he'd deemed okay, figuring that he'd burn them off easily later.

 

He learned a lot about the barista, and shared a few little facts of his own in return. When Phil finished his food and Dan emptied his third Cola, he was surprised to find that he felt kind of sad that the morning was over, until they were about a yard away from each other, going their separate ways home, when Phil called towards him, “see you tomorrow!” It put a ridiculous smile on his face whenever he remembered it throughout the day. He refused to analyze how he hardly thought about the other people in the diner, as he was so wrapped up in their conversation, or how he barely even felt bad about the little bit of pancake he'd had, and that he didn't regret eating it. Phil was right – they had great food, from what he'd tasted of it, and if Dan hadn't been valiantly ignoring the fact that he lived a block away from a cheap diner that he could gorge himself at on a whim, he would've known that.

 

 

_***_

 

It became a thing, after that. Whenever Phil went to get breakfast, he'd invite Dan, and they'd just get to know each other a little better, talk about themselves and their lives while Phil ate and Dan drank his coffee. Dan liked to focus more on the past, as the last few years of his life haven't been exactly cheery, while Phil talked about all the current happenings in his social circle with his family and friends, or the news.

 

Dan officially edited his schedule: wake up, brush his teeth, stretch, run, get coffee, hang out with Phil, get home, shower, do daily coursework, text or Skype Phil while they both fucked around on the internet, eat whatever lunch he had planned, go to work, go home, eat dinner, watch an episode of something whilst using the stationary bike and liveblogging to Phil, sleep, repeat. It was weird, letting someone into his life, having a _friend_ , but Phil didn't pry, and if he sometimes caught him throwing concerned looks his way when he thought he wasn't looking, then, well– neither of them said anything, so it was fine.

 

Today – _23_ _rd_ _of_ _April_ _, 1_ _19_ _pounds, 5_ _3.9_ _kilos, 600 calorie limit_ – was the day his luck ran out, though.

 

He was Skyping Phil while hunting through Tumblr to find any interesting new shows to watch when his timid voice rang through the tinny speakers of the younger's headphones. “Um. Dan, can I ask you something?”

 

Dan could hear the alarm bells in his head going off, but willed himself to stay calm. “Hm?”

 

Little pixelated Phil bit his lip. “Do you have an eating disorder?” He said it so quickly and quietly that if Dan hadn't been wearing headphones, there's no way he would've heard him.

 

He scoffed nervously. “No, God, of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

 

 _The one and only time Dan had ever looked up what was wrong with him, when he read the words '_ anorexia nervosa _' he'd closed out of his browser window in less than a second, wiped his search history and left his computer off for two days. He didn't have an eating disorder. He's always been told that eating disorders are for skeletal runway models that puke up their lunches, and there's no way that chubby, lazy Dan Howell could_ ever _have an eating disorder._

 

“Well, it's just. You basically never eat and you're always exercising. You're constantly saying that you're freezing, even if you're wearing three sweaters. The other day at the park, while I was eating my ice cream cone – I'd just never seen anyone look at something with such want and hate at the same time. And it's not just that. You have so many of the symptoms, it's unsettling.”

 

He wracked his brain, struggling to find anything to pull out of his Bag o' Excuses that he hadn't already used. “I just have a slow metabolism. I'm like a bear. Just you wait, come Winter I'm gonna eat an entire Tescos and then sleep until Spring,” he laughed, but it sounded strained. “And I've got shitty blood circulation. The running helps with that, trust me. If I wasn't active, I'd be even more of an icicle than I am now.”

 

“Dan, please. You're my best friend and you're scaring me,” Phil's voice cracked, and, shit, were his eyes really wet or was it just the camera? “It's like I'm watching you deteriorate and I haven't said anything because I knew you'd just try to push me away or laugh it off but I can't sit on my hands anymore.”

 

“Phil,” he started, trying to keep his face composed. “I– I don't have an– I'm fine, okay? And I've got ten minutes to get ready for work so I _really_ have to go. I'll talk to you later,” Dan rushed out, hitting the 'end call' button before his friend had a chance to say anything else.

 

He went through work in a daze, robotically, and when he got home he briefly considered texting Phil, but decided against it. He'd talk to him in person tomorrow and it would all be fine.

 

He was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to bother with making dinner or cycling. He knew he'd regret it later, but right now, all Dan could think about was what the hell he was going to say to Phil, and how many sleeping tablets he'd have to take to shut his brain off for a few hours.

 

_***_

 

Dan was wrenched awake by a sharp pain in his stomach, like someone was stabbing him repeatedly. His bedside clock said that it was 3:16 AM. Forcing his sleep-addled mind to do math was difficult, but he eventually managed to work out that it'd been about 36 hours since he'd eaten anything, and a good 8 since he'd had anything to drink.

 

Letting out a stream of creative curse words, he pulled himself out of bed, precariously wobbling to the kitchen, using the wall and the counters as support, to shovel a rice cake and a few glasses of water down his throat.

 

He's on his way back to bed when an old, probably stale box of sugary kids' cereal catches his eye. It's been sitting on his counter for as long as he can remember and he never, ever opens it, but, for some reason, it's never been thrown away, either.

 

He's hungry. No, he's _ravenous_. One bowl of cereal wouldn't be bad, he could bike around town for an hour later and everything would be fine, but he knows that one bowl wouldn't be enough. If he ate one bowl, he'd eat the entire box, and then go on to eat everything in his kitchen. Dan's only binged three times before, and that was enough to make him never want to eat ever again, let alone eat _anywhere near_ _that much_.

 

He's conflicted, and he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, but he can't be here right now and there's only two places within walking distance that's open this early, so he pulls on a hoodie and his boots, in too much of a rush to change out of his ratty Superman pajama pants, and hightails it to the diner.

 

Once he's seated at their usual table, he spends at least ten minutes writing, erasing and re-writing a text to Phil while nervously scratching at his thumb. He settles on a simple “ _im at the diner. come ovr?”_ It gets read thirty seconds later, but instead of a response, there's a ding from the bell on the door and then there's Phil, sitting in front of Dan and grabbing at his hand that's resting on the table, holding it firmly, and he squeezes back like it's the only anchor he has because it _is_.

 

There's nothing but the sound of Dan's rattling, uneven breaths and Phil's rhythmic tapping on his leg for a moment before he starts. “I'm sorry. Christ, I'm so sorry, Phil. I– I didn't mean to hurt you. I haven't cared about anybody in so long and my old friends weren't nearly as perceptive as you are and I'm not fine, I'm not, but I don't want to drag you into my bullshit, you're too good for this, too good for me, and, God, you're so bright that you rival all the stars, even the fucking _sun_ , and I'd ruin you, I–” he chokes, covering his mouth with his free hand and willing the tears not to fall.

 

Phil sounds just as close to crying as he does when he says, “Dan, I don't know how you could _possibly_ think that you're not good enough. You are _so_ perfect. I want to revive all of the dead languages of the world so that I could write about you, and even then it wouldn't be enough. Your magnificence is too much for mere words, and I wish I could find a way to describe how when I'm around you it's like the air is being pulled from my lungs and I'm free-falling, in the best way. You're something to be _worshiped_ , Daniel Howell, and I have enough reverence for the both of us until you can see yourself the way I do,” and, yeah, now they're both sobbing, and he can't remember who moved first but suddenly they're in each others arms, soaking their opposite's shoulder in salt water and Dan's clinging onto him so hard that it must hurt but Phil's clutching him just as tight and it only makes him feel safe and secure and loved.

 

It's sometime later, while he's sitting in Phil's lap on his couch and Phil's hands are running gently through his hair, that he asks, “what now?”

 

He sighs; a quiet, lost noise, and he whispers, “I don't know. Do you want to get better?”

 

“I'm still not entirely convinced that I'm sick,” Dan confesses. “But I can't live like this anymore. I think that I know, logically, that this isn't normal human behavior – that there's something wrong with me. It's all I've known for so long, though. I'm afraid of what I'll be without it.”

 

“Happy,” he answers, not missing a beat. “Relieved. _Alive_.”

 

Dan worries his lip, fidgeting nervously with one of Phil's shirt buttons. “Will it be hard?”

 

“Probably. But it will be so, _so_ worth it, I swear,” he says with a soft smile, something that's for his eyes only, and he looks so open and honest that Dan can't help but lean up the rest of the way and seal his promise with a kiss.

 

**Author's Note:**

> just an a/n:  
> i'm soo not happy w/ the way that ended bc it seems like i'm saying that relationships fix everything and everything is fine but that's not what i tried to convey and i promise i don't think that. if i ever get around to it i might write a sequel/epilogue kind of thing to show dan's recovery in more detail, but i rly don't know much abt ed recovery so i'm afraid that it'd be really inaccurate? idk ugh. also the ending was rly rushed bc i finished this at like 4AM so, soz.


End file.
